


Mouse

by yeaka



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Cunnilingus, Ficlet, M/M, Oral Sex, Sex Work, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 00:06:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11817057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: As good as his attendant is, Prince Lindir’s mind drifts to the man he met in the streets.





	Mouse

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Parts are a little inspired by Aladdin?
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or The Hobbit or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Meludir’s tongue curls inside him, and Lindir’s breath hitches, head tilting back in the pillows. Some of his dark hair is already sweat-slicked across his forehead, the rest a mess about him, tangled between his body and the rumpled sheets. His fingers dig down into the mattress, and Lindir shuts his eyes against the crimson canopy’s ceiling. Meludir laps along his slit, and a single image forms in Lindir’s mind: a kind smile on a handsome face, with deep eyes that make his heart clench and quiver. 

Meludir gives the tip of his clit a little tug between two dull teeth, too soft to hurt, but still more than Lindir’s used to, and Lindir whines at the rough treatment. He pictures that man in his mind soothing away his pained noise, kissing his forehead and tucking a matted lock of hair behind his ear. He wishes his hair were properly brushed and that it’d looked better then. It was in the morning before he set out, but he thought the intricate braid he’d been given might betray his identity, so he’d hastily undone it and let it fray as he ran about the dusty streets, letting it toss and turn beneath the cloak he wore in a hood. 

But he’d run too fast, tripped and fell while he wasn’t looking, and that’s how he ended up cradled in the man’s long arms. 

Those arms were so _strong_. He pictures them now, pinning him down by his fragile wrists, instead of Meludir’s delicate fingers splayed along his thighs. Meludir thumbs him just before his entrance, rubbing his sensitive skin and pulling him open. Lindir’s body reacts, as it always does, but his mind is ages away in the arms of another man. _Elrond_ , the man had said, introducing himself as a Healer. And Lindir, with his bruised knees beneath his stolen servant’s robes, needing healing. 

And Elrond had _carried_ him there, into a little wooden home nothing like Lindir’s palace, just in case anything was awry with Lindir’s legs. Elrond thoroughly inspected them. When Lindir closes his eyes, he can still feel Elrond’s hands ghosting along his body. 

Meludir thrusts into him again. Meludir’s tongue is fast and brutal, long and silk-soft, expert at probing and poking and wetting his lips. Meludir fucks him on it, hot mouth sealed around his entrance, the steam of that alone sending shivers up his spine. Lindir shakes and pants and wonders if Healers have servants to pleasure them, or if Lindir’s just as spoiled as he thinks he is. 

He wonders what Elrond would’ve said if he’d seen the rest of Lindir’s body, if he’d done more than just hike Lindir’s robes up his thighs but stripped them off completely. He was so _gentle_. And he was courteous and sweet—he warned Lindir at first that he would have to see the bare skin, and he asked Lindir if it was alright, insisting they could call for Lindir’s personal Healer, but Lindir had no wish to return to the castle yet, even less to reveal that castle at all, and he wanted badly to be treated by _Elrond_.

He thinks of lying on the narrow bed Elrond said was for patients, so much harder and lumpier than the luxurious mattress he lies across now, and how dull the room was. It was a quarter of the size of Lindir’s bedroom. But that’s what he’d snuck out to see—what his people _really_ lived like, and Elrond somehow seemed no _poorer_ for it. He carried himself with dignity and spoke to Lindir with respect. He felt strangely lordly. He looked wondrously good. He smelled like pine and lavender, and he made Lindir want to curl up in his impoverished bed and lie there with him forever.

Meludir stops suddenly, and Lindir only really notices because his thigh’s bitten on the retreat. He gives a quiet yelp, and Meludir’s pretty face appears beneath the blankets. He climbs out from under them, moving around Lindir’s body to collapse at his side. Meludir’s face is flushed, his lips glossy and kiss-swollen. He props his head up on one hand and asks, “Have I gotten that bad at it?”

Lindir mumbles, “What?” amidst a blush.

“I doubt you are getting any closer, and there was a time when I could have had you crying your release in half this long.”

The blush deepens, Lindir’s face as hot as he feels between his legs. He mutters, “I... I am sorry...” to which Meludir just grins and waves a hand. 

“Do not worry of it.” Lindir still feels guilty, but Meludir switches the subject to: “Now, please tell me what you are thinking so intently about, your highness. It must be fascinating indeed to take precedent over my skills.”

Normally, Lindir would say it’s _nothing_. He’s tempted to now. But Meludir gives him such a curious look, and he does have some trust for Meludir—he knows whatever he says won’t be repeated to anyone else. And it isn’t as though Lindir has many other people he could talk of it to—he has no friends so to speak, and this isn’t something with which to trouble his advisors. 

Besides, he knew when Meludir was hired for him that he’d rather have a confidant, _something_ of a friend, than a paid lover. But most of their discussions along this line have been purely hypothetical. 

He still sucks in a breath and slowly admits, “I... met someone today.”

“Ah, when you were playing hooky,” Meludir muses, evidently having heard the local gossip. But it would’ve been impossible not to—Erestor was frantic over it, Glorfindel even more so. He _knows_ he isn’t supposed to leave the castle without any guards. But it isn’t as if many in his kingdom know his face, and he just wanted a small taste...

“I saw Glorfindel coming to take me back, and I ran, though it was foolish, and fell, and... this older gentleman caught me...”

“How much older?” Meludir asks.

“I do not know.” It’s hard to tell with elves. He could’ve been several hundred, or he could’ve been several thousand. “Perhaps as old as my father—”

“Ew,” Meludir interrupts, scrunching up his cute nose. “You have ignored me over someone twice your age? Prince Lindir, honestly...”

“I am more than of age,” Lindir hurriedly counters—and old enough, he neglects to say, to feel the pressures of his council for him to wed. But he hasn’t liked any of the suitors that have come or the ones they’ve suggested. Until now, he hasn’t had much interest in anyone. Meludir was meant to show him the delights of having a partner, and it _has_ been fun, but it was nothing like... “And I felt something when I was with him. It was a spark I have felt for no other. He could not have known I was his prince, and yet he treated me that way anyway, and I have never felt so good as I did under his hands—” Meludir pouts, and Lindir hurriedly adds, “Sorry! I did not mean it like that—just... just that it was not purely physical... the way we spoke together, the way his voice sounded in my ears, the warmth of him when he laid his hand on my shoulder... it was... I cannot even describe it. But I cannot stop thinking of it, either...”

“So return to the market—with the council’s blessing and Lord Glorfindel’s guard this time—and tell him that his prince commands him to come warm his bed.”

If possible, Lindir’s face turns even redder, burning from the tips of his ears to all down his neck. He would never do such a thing. He wouldn’t have even hired Meludir, if the council hadn’t insisted on it and Meludir hadn’t seem so eager for the job, and Lindir wasn’t just so _lonely_.

But he’s not sure he wants Elrond for that anyway. At least, not _just_ for that. He wants a great many things from the mysterious Healer he only just met, and none of them involve his title. 

Looking at him, Meludir eventually lets out a long sigh. Then he offers, “Alright, we will devise another plan then.”

“Plan?” Lindir squeaks, turning to hold Meludir’s bright gaze.

“Of course, my prince,” he coos. “It is my job to make sure you are pleased, and if catching some old peasant will make you happy, so be it.”

Lindir frowns at the description and says before he can stop himself, “ _You_ are a peasant.” He immediately regrets it.

But Meludir just laughs and chirps, “Perhaps, but a royal one that is well paid. And I am also your friend, I think, and I know that I can help you in this—forgive me, your highness, but I believe my practice with seduction far exceeds your own.”

Lindir nods, bizarrely grateful, and doesn’t know quite how to express it. He feels strangely light headed at the thought that he might actually get to see Elrond again, much less try for _more_. He would’ve stayed with Elrond all day today if he could’ve, but he knew the guards would find him eventually, and he wanted to be away before they revealed him. Besides, Elrond had insisted he return ‘home’ to rest. It pained Lindir to decline Elrond’s offer of being escorted there, but then there would’ve been no hope of denying the truth. 

He rolls onto his side, facing Meludir properly and ready to learn. With a sly smile, Meludir purrs, “Now, if you will not simply summon your future paramour, how shall we stage a second meeting...”


End file.
